Steele Got a Holt on Christmas
by ilsablaine
Summary: Post 'Bonds of Steele' A/U: Laura's first Christmas after Remington's deportation


**Disclaimer:** I don't own these fabulous characters – they belong to the wonderfully talented Michael Gleason and Robert Butler. I just enjoy toying with them, and I promise to put them back in one piece (mostly) when I'm finished.

Dedicated to: Shannon & Madeleine Gilbert - Thank you for the encouragement and kind words. Merry Christmas, Friends.

Summary: Post "Bonds of Steele" A/U – Laura's first Christmas after Remington's deportation

**Steele Got a Holt on Christmas**

_Christmas Eve, 1986_

Soft white lights cast shards of red and gold across the room, mingled intimately with the branches and created shadows on the wall.

Beneath the perfectly coordinated tree, a solitary gift lay wrapped in gold paper topped with a red bow that obscured the name written on the tag.

On the table a china plate, once laden with sweets, held only a few crumbs, the only evidence there was ever munchies to be had. A half-empty glass of eggnog sat beside it and smelled faintly of rum.

The curtains were closed tight against the city lights, and overhead fixtures stayed dark.

Boom box speakers murmured classic instrumental Christmas songs and a lilting voice, against its owner's better judgment, couldn't help but hum along.

With nothing left to do, idle hands fidgeted with the all ready perfectly placed tree ornaments, and reached for the glass on the table before the rest of her finally settled on the couch. She finished the eggnog in one smooth swallow and willed herself to enjoy the room's ambiance.

The scene was a far cry from the previous year, when murderous Santas crashed an open house and created havoc well into the hours of Christmas morning. That Christmas had been nothing short of a disaster.

Then again, this one wasn't shaping up to be much better.

Though there were no fake Santas, drunken colleagues or waste basket fires this year, there was also no one to share the memories with.

The agency hadn't even opened its doors this Christmas Eve.

Mildred had jetted off to Seattle to spend the holidays with her sister, and since business was slow, Laura convinced her to take an extra week off, with pay. Mildred planned to use the time to go somewhere cold and snowy in hopes of convincing a mature, handsome ski bum to keep her warm by the fire – and anywhere else he was willing.

And though she had nearly taken Mildred up on her offer to meet her in Big Bear or Tahoe or wherever she ended up, Laura ultimately decided she needed to be in Los Angeles this Christmas.

She'd done the obligatory dinner with her sister and her family; which, if she was forced to admit, was actually quite enjoyable (and made better by the fact that Abigail was snowed in back east.) Still, she'd bowed out earlier than she should have, and flat out refused the offer to spend the night. She knew what Frances was trying to do; Laura could plainly see the disappointment and pity written all over her older sibling's face. No one pitied Laura Holt.

No one, that is, but Laura Holt.

So, armed with only her memories, she'd made the familiar drive back to Los Angeles, unlocked the door, set out the treats, turned on the music and tree lights, and shut the rest of the world out.

Try as she might to keep them sharp, the memories were fading.

His scent no longer lingered in the room and she couldn't quite hear his voice with the Irish undertones he allowed only for her. The warmth of his touch no longer steadied and reassured her.

The searing heat of his kiss didn't buckle her knees.

After seven months, she couldn't quite convince herself he'd talked himself out of his mess.

It had all happened so fast.

She'd hardly had time to absorb the shock of his attempted marriage to Clarissa the hooker before Keyes was snapping his fingers and having him hauled off by the INS. He'd spent a total of 17 hours in custody before the paperwork for his deportation was completed.

She still didn't know what country he had claimed as his birthright; he'd only said simply, "Europe, of course," when she had asked him where he was going. As far as she knew, he had no European passports other than those confiscated by Inspector Lombard almost a year earlier. If he was in possession of some, he hadn't asked her to retrieve them for him. She knew his resources, though, and would never have put it past him to have snuck something new into confinement before he left Los Angeles.

She hadn't even kissed him goodbye.

Flabbergasted at the whole scenario and shell-shocked by his attempt to get out of it, she'd left the INS building with a quiet, "see you tomorrow." When she'd arrived at 9:30 the next morning, her head clear, her soul ready to fight for what was hers, he was gone.

Weeks passed. International newspapers were scoured for clues and traces on the five aliases she knew of turned up nothing. Eventually, she conceded defeat. She had no means with which to trace his movements and whereabouts, and as more time slipped away, she began to believe he truly did not want to be found.

She was both proud of him and spitting mad at herself for the way they'd allowed him to slip unobtrusively out of Los Angeles. Proud of him for the lack of fanfare he'd created once he realized he'd been made, and angry with herself for the lack of fanfare she'd created when it came to her defense of him. Enough hooha with the right media outlets could have at least bought him some time, couldn't it? Instead, as far as the public knew, Remington Steele was on extended leave – eyebrows deep in undercover work in an undisclosed location.

And she was back to having to prove and defend her every move to the clients.

If forced to admit it out loud, business hadn't dropped off that much since his departure. As long as Laura Holt was Remington Steele's most trusted and valued associate, people seemed willing to let her take their cases, albeit grudgingly.

It was the future she was worried about.

She knew she couldn't keep it up forever. Eventually Remington Steele had to wrap up his 'case' and come back to Los Angeles. The rumor mill was all ready stirring with questions about why this particular case was taking 'The Great Remington Steele' so long to solve. The vote seemed split on whether it was a particularly challenging case, or if Steele just wasn't as good as the public perceived him to be.

The latter scared the hell out of Laura.

She'd been a fool all these years to believe she was prepared for if or when he left. She was well beyond the point of being able to carry the agency on her own for any length of time. And while the circumstances of his departure hadn't been his choice, the end result was the still the same:

He was gone. And she was left. In too deep.

Exhaustion overwhelmed her suddenly, and she reclined back into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over her tired body. Instinctively, she knew it was past midnight and therefore, officially Christmas. Weeks ago, she'd promised herself one day just for herself. No agency business, no familial obligations, and no worrying about where he was or if he was all right.

That didn't mean, however, she wouldn't allow herself to think of him, to wonder what might have been, had he been able to stay.

As the soft music and warmth of the eggnog washed over her, she closed her eyes and tried to summon up blurred memories, to no avail.

But she knew where to find him.

Dreams. The memories still lingered there: crisp, passionate and real. Succumbing to the exhaustion, she let herself drift . . .

* * *

Somewhere in the realms of REM sleep where reality lingered with memory, a gentle voice pulled her slowly to consciousness and she leaned into a warm palm stroking comfort against her cheek.

A soft kiss upon her lips shot heat straight to her core.

Her eyes popped open.

And locked with ones the colour of Royal Lavulite.

She sat up abruptly, narrowly missing knocking heads with him. She pulled the blanket up higher under her chin and watched him settle onto the floor beside the couch, facing her. She saw the confusion and uncertainty in his eyes and knew her expression mirrored his. Shocked, she could only stare until finally, he cleared his throat, and she realized she was not still dreaming.

She reached a hand out tentatively, and nearly sagged with relief when his fingers grasped hers. Finally, he spoke.

"Why are you here, Laura? Why aren't you with your family instead of . . ."

"I knew this is where you'd come," she answered simply, and his heart nearly broke at the thought that she was waiting for him, even though she most likely didn't believe he would be back.

"Actually, I was going to go to your loft and surprise you, but I wasn't sure how you'd react, so I thought it best to clean up a bit after spending most of the day on various airplanes." He flashed a nervous, lopsided grin. "Wouldn't want to get tossed out for smelling like yesterday's dirty wash." In reality, he had talked himself out of going to her loft, convinced himself it was too late (or too early, depending on one's point of view) to be knocking on her door. And if forced to admit it, he wasn't at all sure what kind of scene he would find once he got there. He'd been gone the better part of a year, and had left her with no way of contacting him while overseas. He wouldn't blame her if she had moved on, though finding her here fairly convinced him he had nothing to worry about in that department.

"I'm glad you came home," she admitted quietly, and he knew she didn't just mean to his flat.

His breath caught in his throat and he swallowed hard against it.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" The question was almost challenging, and he understood the full scope of what she was asking.

Locking eyes with her, he replied with a firm, "Yes."

She sat back, appraising him fully for the first time since he awakened her. He looked tired, of course, and a bit thinner, but God he was still beautiful. She missed him more than she realized and the quick flutter in her heart made her breath catch. There was something different, though, and she studied him a moment longer. He had an ease about him she'd never noticed before, a sense of belonging, and she knew without a doubt he'd finally discovered the answers that had eluded him for so long.

She was thrilled for him and at the same time, scared to death. Had he only come back to claim the things he'd left behind?

"How?" She finally managed. Regardless of what happened, she needed to know the truth, wanted to hear the answers so she could share his joy, if only for a little while.

"You've told me I'm a better detective than I give myself credit for; I finally decided to prove you right." A jolt of pride zipped through her, and she allowed herself to relax a little.

"Incidentally, it was our friend Inspector Lombard who met me at the airport. Needless to say, he wasn't completely surprised, given his knowledge of my, uh, previous identities." He tugged an ear in embarrassment and Laura smiled.

"He asked me why the INS had 'tossed me on his front stoop.' I figured I had nothing left to lose, so I told him the story."

"All of it?" He nodded, shrugged.

"Save for the illegal parts. He said he owed me one for helping with the Whitechapel murders and would look into a few things. In the mean time, I was to lay low, which suited me fine. The last thing I wanted was for Remington Steele to be spotted in London." He looked at her, his eyes sparkling. "I knew what kind of cover story you'd have cooked up, Laura."

This time she laughed out loud, and the sound warmed his heart. He knew the damage he had left in his wake. Though it was inadvertent, it didn't make it any easier for her to deal with, and knowing she didn't know where he was or if he was coming back had slowly eaten away at his soul. He turned serious again.

"Eventually, Lombard came up with some leads, and one of them panned out. After everything was confirmed, he helped me obtain the necessary paperwork to apply for a passport. He was able to expedite the process because of my professional standing here in Los Angeles." He shrugged, a bit nervous to admit he'd used her agency's name for his better good. He hoped she would overlook that minor tidbit.

She didn't. The gleam in her eye told him he'd pay for it later, but for now he was off the hook – she had more important things to deal with.

"What country?" She inquired.

"Ireland." She nodded as if she expected it. He waited quietly while she sorted through this new information. She shifted suddenly and he flinched when she stepped over him.

"What happens now?" A throw pillow clutched tightly to her abdomen while she paced was his only clue to her uncertainty. It pained him to know she considered the possibility this was just a stepping stone for him. He needed her to understand he was back for good and this was, he hoped, merely the beginning for them. He got slowly to his feet, suddenly unsure of where he stood.

"For now, I have the proper – legal – paperwork to resume living and working in the United States. I have to attend periodic interviews with the INS to satisfy their records. Eventually, I can apply for a green card." He watched her nodding as if it was exactly what she expected to hear.

He dropped the bomb.

"When enough time has passed, I'll apply for American citizenship. I've all ready got the papers." That stopped her dead in her tracks.

"You want to become an American citizen?" She asked incredulously. She couldn't fathom why, after finally finding out who he was and where he came from, he would want to give it all up to become an American. "Why?"

He raised his right hand to her cheek, caressed her jaw and gently forced her to look him in the eye. "Because," he said softly, "it's the only place that's ever felt like home."

She closed her eyes and let his words wash over her. The full scope of what it all meant was finally seeping into her overwhelmed mind and she leaned into his touch, needing the comfort as well as his strength to help her make sense of it all.

He leaned forward until his lips barely brushed hers. It took everything he had not to grab her and take from her what he'd been missing all these months: their closeness, the smell of her perfume, the feel of her mouth against his . . .

He tasted her before he registered the pressure against his lips. He sucked in a breath a split second before her tongue slipped past his parted lips and began a slow tango with his. He slipped long fingers over her shoulders and into her hair to cradle her head as her mouth made love to his. She increased the pressure, sliding hungry lips over his, winding her arms around his neck, desperate to make up for months of lost time. Unsure when his control of the situation had slipped, he let himself get lost for a moment in the feel of her, the scent of her, the heat of her. Still, he could feel her tension, and knew she hadn't been able to completely shut down her mind. He drew away reluctantly.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't try to sort it all out now. We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, Laura." He smiled when her shimmering eyes met his and he saw in them everything that told him his decisions, though painful, had been the right ones. He drew her into his arms and caressed her ear with his lips.

"Stay with me tonight," he breathed. She nodded, unable to trust her voice and tightened her arms around him.

* * *

Later, when the sun was beginning its slow crawl up the horizon and streaks of red and gold splashed across the bedroom wall and mingled intimately with the lingering shadows of the night, she lay wrapped securely in his arms, the heat of his body warming the silk of his pajama top she wore. His lower body was clad in the matching silk bottoms. She felt him shift, almost imperceptibly, and knew he was still awake.

She trailed her fingers up his bare chest and he caught her hand in his.

"Laura, there are some things I need to say to you; some things I owe you explanations for -" Her fingers laid gently over his lips, silencing him. Her eyes shone and he didn't trust himself to admit just yet what he saw reflected in them. She leaned up on an elbow, replaced her fingers with her lips and laid the barest breath of a kiss against his.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't try to explain it all now. We've got time." She smiled a brilliant Laura Holt smile and he felt the pieces of his shattered soul fall back together.

"I'm not going anywhere."

End

December 20th, 2009

* * *

_A/N: I deliberately left some things vague – you can use your imaginations to fill in the blanks. This is my first published RS story – I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is appreciated. Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays. Thanks for reading! Ilsa_


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